


Rainy Days & Board Games

by wordybirdy



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 16:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordybirdy/pseuds/wordybirdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it rains, it pours.  Watson brings out the chess board, then rather wishes that he hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rainy Days & Board Games

It was during one thoroughly wet and dismal afternoon in April that I found myself standing at the window of our sitting-room at 221B Baker Street, gazing glumly out at the London downpour which was so frequent and unrelenting at this time of year. Holmes had not moved all day from his horizontal arrangement on the sofa where I believed him to be either sleeping or dead. I turned around now from the window and decided that I must disturb him either way.

“It really is the most dreadful weather today, Holmes.”

“I would not argue with you, Watson.”

Alive and awake, then.

“It is dreary, and there is absolutely nothing to pass the time with.” I complained.

Holmes fixed a sharp grey eye upon me. “That may be true, but what would you expect me to do about that? I was never a song and dance man, Watson, my calling was never for Vaudeville; please do not assume that I am willing to entertain you in that vein for a moment, let alone indefinitely.”

Paying little heed to my friend’s dry babble, I held up a finger in a sudden inspiration.  
“I have an excellent idea!” I exclaimed. “Wait there, I shall be back in one moment!”

Holmes may have groaned; or perhaps it was merely the creak of the sofa - I did not hang back to determine, for I was headed apace for our lumber-room. This room, small and crooked, was where Holmes had for many years pursued his habit of archiving all the old copies of our daily newspaper. The floorboards were scarcely visible now, and the shelves too were buckling under the weight of an accumulated mass of newsprint. Upon an isolated top shelf I found my treasure. I hoisted down a large cardboard box, which was coated in such a thick layering of dust that it plumed up in clouds around me as I clutched it to my chest. I hurried back to the sitting-room to show Holmes.

“I have found it!” I declared triumphantly.

“Oh, God. I mean, ‘what is it?’” Holmes enquired. He had an expression on his face which must surely have been excitement, but which many who did not know him well would have mistaken for foreboding. My friend’s moods can be notoriously difficult to read, but I knew that he was pleased to see my box.

I opened the lid of the box and thrust it towards him. “Look!” I commanded.

Holmes flinched - the anticipation momentarily overwhelming, no doubt - but then leaned forward cautiously to peer into the depths.

“Board games.” said he. He did not sound overjoyed.

Now observing how Holmes’s eyebrows had knotted and all of his fingernails were digging relentlessly into the arms of the sofa, I came to a realisation that the situation as it stood may need to be reassessed.

I plunged forward regardless, however, for I was really very bored.

“Yes, board games!” said I, wearing my widest, most captivating smile; the smile which never failed to chivvy my friend from a fit of pique. “And because there is nothing to do, and we are both wearied, I think that it would be a capital idea for us to play one or two of them!”

“I, on the other hand, do not,” said my friend, possibly still fairly unhappy with the unwelcome turn that his afternoon had taken. “In fact, I cannot think of a more disagreeable way to spend my time. Such games are for children.”

“But Holmes,” I persisted, “We have chess! That is scarcely a child’s game. We have draughts! And we have dominoes! Holmes, what are you doing?”

“I am opening the window with the intention of throwing myself out of it,” said he. He thrust out his head, and looked up and down the street. “It is still raining,” he declared with an air of absolute despair, drawing slowly back into the room.

With Holmes momentarily distracted I took the liberty of beginning to set up the chess pieces. Holmes returned to the sofa and looked carefully at me.

“Watson, I have never played chess, I do not have the first idea as to what the rules of it might be. Neither have I played draughts, or dominoes. I am not a gaming man.”

“But, Holmes!” said I, “Surely you must have played games with your brother Mycroft, when you were both children?”

“Mycroft was never a child,” said my friend dryly, “he was born at 48 years of age, and he remains that age now. Of course I followed in his footsteps. We neither of us were inclined towards toys.”

“Well that is a very sad confession,” I said, “but all the more reason for you to try them now.”

“I feel no particular compulsion to cosset a teddy-bear, Watson.”

“That is not what I meant, Holmes. Please listen to the rules of chess which I am about to read aloud to you.”

Holmes pouted while I read out the rule sheet. He queried the logic of the knight’s L-shaped step, and why on earth the Queen should be free to move in any direction she pleased while the King remained hamstrung. At last we commenced our first game. All was proceeding moderately well until Holmes’s attempt to eliminate my Queen by moving three squares diagonally with his pawn.

“That is an illegal move, Holmes!”  
“On the contrary, Watson, I was implementing the element of surprise with my attack. The Queen was not expecting it, and so logically she should concede defeat to my pawn.”  
“That is not how chess works, Holmes. Please replace my Queen.”  
“I am quite unable to do that, Watson. She is quite dead now; the pawn got her fair and square.”  
“Well, in that case…” I picked up my castle and hopped it over the heads of several of Holmes’s pieces to reach a lone foe upon the periphery. I knocked it clear of the board. “That’s your bishop down, Holmes. He felt no pain.”  
“Damn and blast it, Watson, I was saving him for later. Ah, but look, my own castle has a catapult and must surely be able to reach your knight from that distance. Yes, I think that shot did it.”  
“Imaginary catapults are most definitely illegal, Holmes! I must protest!”  
“Too late, dear boy, your defences are in ruins. My Queen advances, and your King is mine, behold!”  
“Dammit, you can’t take two turns in a row, man! I need a brandy.”  
“No alcohol allowed on the battlefield, Watson. But seeing as your army has lost fairly abysmally, an exception shall be made. Pour one for me too, would you?”

~~~~~~

“Do you know, I think that I rather like chess,” said Holmes later, as we sat on opposite sides of the fireplace sipping our brandies. “It is a game with definite potential. What other games did you say you had in that box of yours?”

I paused while raising my brandy glass to my lips, and decided that on this occasion discretion would most certainly be the better part of valour. “Did I say that, Holmes?” Innocent. Exemplary. “No, you are mistaken. I found no other games in that box after all.”


End file.
